


Champion

by Ubergrump



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ubergrump/pseuds/Ubergrump
Summary: Crossposted from the kmeme. Original prompt: "Isabela's POV on returning with the Tome of Koslun, having Hawke duel the Arishok for her freedom, and what comes after."





	Champion

Isabela reached the northern edge of the city and took one step into freedom. The book was finally in her hands and the Qunari were behind her. She could find Castillon, she could hand the damned book over, and the price would disappear from her head. No debts, no ties, not a single thing hanging over her. All she had to do was walk forward into her new life.

She took another step. She was so close to a blank slate. Well, as close as she could get. It would do. She'd be able to resurface. The black mark would be gone from her name. She could finally, finally return to the sea.

A third step. All she had to do was put the last three years behind her. To put this pisshole of a city behind her. To put-

Her feet betrayed her, and she stopped. She had to do two things. Two things, two little rules, would get her through this. First, she had to not look back. If she looked back, she'd do something very, very stupid. Second, and this was vital, she could not let one name cross her mind. Do not turn around. Do not think.

She started chanting it in her head like a mantra. _Don't look back don't think don't look back don't think don't look back don't think_

Her feet stayed planted, her heart dropped into her stomach, and she looked back over her shoulder. First rule broken. Voice low, under her breath, she broke the second one. “Damn you, Hawke.”

Kirkwall was burning. At least, that’s what it looked like from Isabela’s perspective just past the outskirts. The horizon over the city was a sickly orange, a screen of smoke making the sky pale against the bright flames.

It wasn’t hard to navigate the streets once she was back into the heart of Kirkwall. The aftermath of battle was everywhere, debris and blood littered the streets - with the latter becoming more common as she approached the center of the city. This was where the Qunari had carved their relentless way up from the docks. By now, most of the fighting was over, although she did have to skirt her way past a handful of ongoing scuffles. 

Isabela wasn’t surprised to find that some of the rivalries brewing under the city’s surface had come to a head in the wake of the invasion. Some of the smaller gangs had culled each other’s numbers, while the cleverer groups had taken the opportunity to join forces against the Carta. The Kirkwall underground would be feeling the repercussions of this disaster even after the skyline was rebuilt. 

She tried hard not to wonder about how many of her below-ground allies had survived the day. That line of thinking weighed her down with guilt and reminded her that anyone could have been caught in the conflict. Even those she cared about. What if it was someone closer to her than a Darktown contact? What if it was someone she’d fought alongside? Someone who had called her a friend? What if it was more than one? What if Hawke blamed her? Isabela shook her head and pressed forward. Standing in an alley in Hightown and weeping over possibilities wouldn’t help anyone.

The Qunari would have taken everyone to the Keep, she was sure of it, and as Isabela reached the courtyard in front of it, she was proven correct in no uncertain terms. The fighting in the streets had been brutal, but the carnage here… Isabela wasn’t a religious woman, but it was an ungodly sight. Clearly there had been some kind of last stand and, for what it was worth, those who had been holding the ground must have put up a hell of a fight. Qunari corpses lay strewn across the ground, but they were far outnumbered by the bodies of those who had stood against them. Elves, dwarves, humans- men and women in Circle robes, in Templar armor, in the uniform of the Guard- they hadn’t stood a chance. There must have been dozens of them in this No Man’s Land. It was still, but even in that stillness Isabela was loathe to cross it. 

As she passed, stepping over body after body, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from them. The worst were those souls who were untouched aside from gashes across their throats. Executed on the steps of the Keep for defending the city. She picked her way through and climbed the steps, but just as she reached the top, she heard a rasping breath. Without thinking she rushed to the person who had made the noise, dropping the book on the ground beside them. A woman wearing the robes of the Gallows. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Barely more than a child. There was a gash across her abdomen, condemning her to a slow but certain death. The young woman looked up at Isabela, eyes glazed and unfocused.

Isabela didn’t know why she’d stopped. As she’d made her way here, she must have passed a dozen others who had been on death’s door. There was no time to stop and play ward nurse to every soul abandoned by the Maker. Yet, after what she’d just seen, she felt the need to do something. Now that she was here, she realized there was nothing that could be done, regardless. Even if she did attempt to close the wound, this girl was too far gone.

“Well, isn’t there something you can do?” Isabela asked, a ragged edge on her voice. “You’re a mage, can’t you do, I don’t know, isn’t there a spell or something?”

The girl furrowed her brow slightly, like she was trying to understand. After a moment she closed her eyes and sighed, though it was a rough sound, rushed and heavy.

Isabela did the only thing she could think of and took the girl’s hand into her own. She was suddenly very self-conscious and felt like an utter fool. _How is this helping? Why am I even bothering?_ Her thoughts were interrupted by the girl, eyes still closed, gently squeezing Isabela’s hand. Isabela lightly squeezed back, hoping that was the right thing to do. Soon, the girl’s hand went limp. Unconscious or dead. Isabela didn’t have time to check. She’d already wasted too much time here. She stood, grabbing the book from the ground. The spot where she gripped the tome’s spine was slick and Isabela felt her stomach lurch. The Arishok would be taking home a relic coated in the blood of a dying girl.

Isabela strode with purpose the rest of the length to the Keep’s doors. The Qunari who had been posted outside were dead, as were, she discovered as she pushed open the door, those who had been in the front room. She wondered how much of this fighting Hawke had been a part of. Knowing her, likely most of it. As Isabela got to the long hall that ran the length of the Keep, she heard the unmistakable sound of the Arishok bellowing from the other end of the building. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but she took it as a good sign. If he was yelling, there were still people alive to yell at. That also meant more Qunari though, so she readied herself and moved with caution.

When the doors to the far room were in sight, she found herself almost disappointed that there was only one man on guard. Did they really have such little regard for the possibility of an outside threat? _Or, she wondered with some satisfaction, have their numbers been thinned so much that they can’t spare any more?_

She had seen the sentry before he saw her, so she approached carefully, avoiding his line of sight. It was surprisingly easy, the Qunari was clearly distracted by the events taking place in the room behind him. As she moved forward, she could finally hear what the Arishok was saying.

“So tell me, Hawke: You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found.”

Isabela broke into a run toward the guard, deftly drawing a dagger and sending it sailing cleanly into his shoulder. As he staggered and instinctively reached toward the wound, she hefted the book into both hands and used it to strike him hard across the face.

“How would you see this conflict resolved without it?” The Arishok’s voice asked from the next room.

Isabela retrieved the dagger from the Qunari’s shoulder and buried it in his throat before kicking him backwards. He knocked the doors wide open in a deliciously dramatic fashion. Isabela twirled the dagger in her hand and resheathed it, stepping on the sentry’s twitching corpse as she strode into the room.

“I believe I can answer that.”

All eyes were on Isabela. She had time to note that Aveline was there, standing between Kirkwall and all that threatened it, as usual. And Varric, who was hanging back a considerable way. She made eye contact with Hawke, who, unbelievably, actually smiled. Not the reaction she was expecting, but there was no time to think about that now. Isabela came to a stop shoulder-to-shoulder with Hawke and deposited the book roughly into the Arishok’s hands. “I believe you’ll find it’s mostly undamaged.”

The Arishok gazed at it with a wonderance. “The Tome of Koslun.”

“It took me a while to get back,” Isabela said, turning her attention to Hawke, “what with all the fighting everywhere. You know how it is.”

“I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

“This is your damned influence, Hawke. I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It’s pathetic.”

Hawke looked like she was about to reply, but before she could, the Arishok addressed them, handing the book off to another Qunari. “The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen.”

_Thank the fucking Maker._

“With the thief.”

“ _What?_ ” Isabela asked.

“I don’t think so.” Aveline interjected. “If she has to answer to anyone, it’s the Guard.”

“She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us.”

“You have your relic.” Hawke said. “She stays with us.”

“Then you leave me no choice. I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize.”

“No!” Isabela stepped forward. “If you’re going to duel anyone, duel me.”

“You are not basalit-an. You are unworthy.”

“Don’t you have what you came for?” Hawke asked. “This is unnecessary.”

“You know we do not suffer thieves. She cannot walk away from this insult. I will take her. If you object, duty demands that we fight.”

Isabela scoffed. “This is ridiculous. It's my fight. I'm not a fucking trophy waiting on the edge of a brawling pit for the winner to take home. I stole your stupid book, I'm the one you're after, duel me.”

The Arishok didn't even glance at her. There was no acknowledgement that she'd spoken. She may as well have been the Tome, ready to pass between hands. Her fingers twitched, itching to draw her daggers and bury one in his condescending, smug face. Or better yet, somewhere much softer and easier to reach.

Hawke, on the other hand, was watching her raptly, even as the Arishok was watching Hawke. Isabela could see her out of her peripheral. Isabela met her eyes when Hawke broke the silence.

“You’re right, but you know we aren’t going to get anywhere arguing. Let me do this for you, as your surrogate.”

Isabela knew she was right. The Qunari would only do things their way. She couldn’t bring herself to reply, so she just broke eye contact, turning her head away. In her attempt to avoid watching this deal take place, she ended up glancing at the Qunari standing nearby. Specifically, unluckily, straight at the one holding the fucking book.

“Fine,” she heard Hawke say to the Arishok. “Your death, your rules.”

“Meravas. So shall it be.”

Everyone was shuffled out of the way, up the stairs in the back of the room, clearing the floor without freeing the hostages. There were probably a couple dozen nobles who had been selected for their relative power within the city hierarchy, along with a handful of guards who had presumably followed Aveline. Everyone grouped off, most of them ready to watch the fight that would determine whether the Arishok would leave this room alive. Some of the nobles moved away to whisper conspiratorially, a few of them began to weep. Isabela shoved her way to the edge of the landing, where she had an unobstructed view of the room. She watched Hawke adjust her armor and wondered what she was thinking. Aveline and Varric joined her a moment later. 

A man in a gaudy, expensive looking outfit immediately addressed Aveline. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t just hand the thief over, if that’s all it will take to rid us of these barbarians.”

“We won’t be handing anyone over to the hostile group that just invaded the city, Serah.”

A Qunari who’d been tasked with keeping order spoke out. “Quiet yourselves, basra.”

“Oh, stuff it.” Aveline snapped.

Everything was as settled as it would ever be. The duel was about to begin. Isabela held onto the waist-high railing in front of her.

Isabela had been a duelist for many years, and had gotten into plenty of fights before that. She knew how to size up an opponent and this one was a hell of a sight. The Arishok had a foot and a half on Hawke, as well as more than a hundred pounds. He held a sword in one hand and a heavy looking axe in the other. Carrying two heavy, mixed-type weapons like that was either a sign of an overreaching fool or a highly trained expert. Even in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing, though, there were considerable drawbacks to that kind of arrangement. She could only hope Hawke was aware of them.

Hawke was wielding a greatsword and Isabela could attest to the skill she exhibited with it. Years of practice were on Hawke’s side, but the training afforded to her by the Ferelden army was nothing in comparison to what the Arishok must have gone through. In contrast to the Arishok’s squared, sturdy stance, Hawke was in motion, rolling her sword in her hand and shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

The Arishok made the first move, rushing Hawke with a swing of his axe. She narrowly avoided it with a couple of quick backward steps.The Arishok used the distraction provided by the axe to try and bring his sword down from the opposite direction, but Hawke had anticipated it. As soon as she had dodged, she flipped her sword so that she was holding it by the blade with both hands, almost like a bat. Hawke caught the edge of his blade with her sword’s guard and drove it into the ground much faster than he’d expected, using his own momentum against him. This maneuver had the effect of getting him to hunch over slightly, making it possible for Hawke to drive her sword’s pommel directly into the middle of his face.This accomplished, she turned her sword back around so the hilt was in her hand and backed off, dodging around him so she could move half the length of the room away.

Hawke had taken an exceptional risk to do that, if the Arishok had a free hand, he’d have been able to grab her blade and instantly disarm her. She’d gambled that he wouldn’t, but Isabela was having trouble figuring out what the payoff really was. Hawke may have broken his nose, when Isabela got a glimpse of his face, it was significantly bloodied, but he was still in fit enough fighting shape. It hadn’t been a killing blow, or even particularly disabling. It clicked when Isabela saw the pleased gleam in Hawke’s eye as she looked at the Arishok. He was angry. He was pissed. Hawke wasn’t just trying to fight him, she was trying to taunt him, to remind him exactly where he was, whose city he was in. Whether or not that was wise was another question entirely.

The Arishok charged at Hawke again and this time she parried, stopping the swing midair. He caught her sword with his axe, nearly twisting it out of her grasp. Isabela felt her breath catch in her throat. He caught her sword again the same way, and Hawke turned it back on him, using her leverage to pull the axe out of his hands and send it spinning a short way across the floor. It didn’t exactly make the match even, but it went a long way toward helping. The Arishok adjusted very quickly and they exchanged a few blows. Isabela was gripping the railing so hard that she could feel her nails digging little divots in the wood.

Unexpectedly, the Arishok swung low, catching Hawke in an unarmored area on one of her legs. Hawke fell to one knee, but instantly used the new angle to drive a desperate thrust into the Arishok’s abdomen. He let out a guttural yell and dropped his sword. Apparently not even the Qunari were truly impervious to pain. He collapsed to the ground and Isabela heard him say something to Hawke, although they were too far away for her to make out the words. Hawke stood with as much dignity as she could and stepped unsteadily closer, finally driving her blade into his chest.

There was a moment of silence, and then the crowd erupted into a chorus of glad exclamations, mixed in with some jeering directed at the remaining Qunari. Isabela felt relief flood her whole body, but she couldn’t stop re-living the last few seconds of the fight in her mind. If there had been even half a second’s hesitation on Hawke’s part, they’d all be seeing her head roll across the floor. Not to mention Isabela would be forced out of here in chains. 

As Hawke pulled her sword free of the Arishok’s now-lifeless body, the door was once again flung open. Meredith and Orsino had both finally arrived, followed by a small mixed-group of Templars and mages, prepared for a fight. Just in time to be useless, as usual. They stopped short, taking in the scene. The Arishok, dead on the floor. Hawke, holding her sword like a walking stick as she favored her injured leg. The remains of the Qunari army, about to leave without further bloodshed.

“Is it over?” Asked Meredith, looking more stupefied than Isabela had ever seen.

“It’s over.” Hawke answered.

Meredith and Orsino both watched, silent and suspicious, as the Qunari filed out peacefully, the book secure in their possession. Isabela found herself holding her breath as the last of the Qunari left the room, not quite believing that what she was seeing was real. She’d been running from this for so long that it was hard to imagine being free of it. Her trance was interrupted by Meredith addressing Hawke.

“Well done. It appears Kirkwall has a new Champion.” 

The people gathered had mostly quieted, but at those words there was a new round of applause and cheers. Hawke smiled, but to Isabela’s eye she looked more relieved than proud. Hawke had a brief, quiet exchange with both Meredith and Orsino, as the crowd finally found themselves able to leave the room and quickly disappeared. Isabela waited for the handshaking and pleasantries to cease before she approached Hawke, who beamed at her.

“You know,” Isabela said, “you should probably get that leg looked at.”

“It’s fine, it looks worse than it feels.”

 

“That’s called shock. It’s not a good thing.” Isabela crossed her arms and looked around. For all the lightened atmosphere in here, she couldn’t shake the memory of the devastation outside. She flexed her right hand, remembering the feel of the dying girl’s blood-slicked skin. That couldn’t have been more than a half-hour ago. It felt like a lifetime.

“You did this, you know.”

Isabela started. “ _What?_ ”

“You ended it. You brought the book back. Everyone who left this room alive-- you made that possible. They’re going home to their families because of what you did.”

“You have it all wrong. You think I did this because I wanted to help _them_? Because I wanted to help the city? No, Hawke. I didn’t do it for them. I did it for you. It was always about you.”

Before Hawke could respond, Isabela turned away and walked for the door. She couldn’t bear the way Hawke was looking at her. She couldn’t bear to be here for what happened next. They might think Hawke to be a hero, a savior. Maybe. But all Isabela could see was someone else getting the blame for her mistakes. Hawke might be held in esteem for a while, but ultimately they’d turn on her, like high society prats always did. They’d see Hawke as the one at the epicenter of all this and ask why it took so long for her to act. Hawke would take the blame, and accept it willingly. That, more than anything, was what Isabela couldn’t bear to see. After all, what is _Champion_ but another name for a duelist’s surrogate?


End file.
